


we don't get out alive

by FakePlastikTrees



Category: Good Girls (TV)
Genre: F/M, post Season 1 finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-01
Updated: 2018-05-01
Packaged: 2019-04-30 22:42:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14507079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FakePlastikTrees/pseuds/FakePlastikTrees
Summary: Takes place right after the finale. Rio and and Beth have it out.





	we don't get out alive

It’s heavy, Rio’s gun. She’s never really held one before. A real one anyway, and it’s heavier than she expects. Her finger flattens out over the trigger, sliding over the smooth surface, careful not to squeeze it.

 

Not yet.

 

The two most infuriating men in her life are looking at her like they’re expecting something; one bloodier, more beat up than the other, both deserving of a bullet as far as she’s concerned. The longer she holds the gun, really feels the weight of it, the angrier she’s becoming, and the easier it gets for her to consider pulling the trigger. She feels it steady her, balance her out, really ground her and her jaw clenches as she inhales slowly through her nose.

 

Dean looks pathetic and miserable--guilty. Rio is smiling with all the serenity of a lion waiting to pounce.

 

She doesn’t trust either one of them.

 

“Get out of here,” she says to Dean. He begins to protest and stammer, she thinks maybe he’s crying. “Dean, go. Now.” 

 

Perhaps it’s the sudden confidence in her voice, but he doesn’t argue further. He struggles to get up and he stops when he reaches her, leans in close and whispers, “Bethy--”

 

She looks away from Rio, gun still pointed at his direction and glares coldly at Dean. “I know you lied. We’re done.” 

 

She doesn’t wait for him to reply, does not wait for him to look at her any kind of way that will make her change her mind. She returns her attention to Rio, who is still sitting at the head of her table, smirking, waiting. At some point, the front door opens and closes and she knows they only have so long before Dean decides to call the police. 

 

“It’s now or never,” Rio says, placing both hands on the table and for a brief second he flashes another toothy smile.

 

The empty click of the gun throws her off and she has to catch herself. It’s empty, and she realizes she knew it all along somehow. 

 

“You should probably learn the difference between a gun that’s loaded and one that isn’t,” he tells her. He’s far too cocky for her liking. She’s far too wired for that smug face of his. 

 

She tosses the gun on the table and sneers, “Go to hell.” 

 

“You’re a gangster now, huh? You really are trying to get on my level.”

 

“I am not on your level, you’re a criminal.”

 

“Baby, what d’you think  _ you _ are? You think you’re different ‘cause you drive a minivan? I hate to break it to you sweetheart, but all that ambition ain’t just business savvy, it’s greed. You were so ready to kill me just now.” 

 

“I was defending myself.” 

 

He laughs again and slowly pushes himself off his seat. This manic, predatory look in his eyes scares her, because she’s not sure what comes of it exactly, but she stands her ground even as he comes nearer, stepping into her personal space with no hesitation. 

 

Up close, she can see every cut and bruise on his face and neck. His skin is flushed. 

 

“Telling yourself that won’t help you sleep at night, but you go ahead,” he whispers harshly and she can smell something minty in his breath. 

 

She hates him being this close, but also wants him closer and she’s so annoyed with herself that she instinctively shoves at his chest, but he’s a rock and barely budges, so she shoves harder.

 

He grabs both her wrists and holds them between them. As she pulls, he pulls harder, forcing her to meet his glare but something within her has snapped and there’s no putting that together again; she pulls at her wrists again, giving a frustrated grunt when his grip doesn’t give and the words come out of her like shards of glass, “You can’t just push me out like I’m a liability after everything I’ve done to prove myself to you.”

 

“Nuh-uh, that was all for you. You need to stop fucking around with this ‘mother of four’ bullshit,” he says, his voice like gravel, and this time she gives him her full attention. “You want to do this? Then do it. But know you’ll have to get your hands dirty. There ain’t no half way. You’re either doing it or you’re not. No more excuses.”

 

And then she realizes he never wanted her to  _ kill the king _ , he wants to share the throne. 

 

She takes a breath, and another before replying slowly, “Are you going to trust me?” 

 

“You trust  _ me _ ?” He counters and when she can’t bring herself to lie and say yes, he nods. “At least we’re on the same page.”

 

There’s blood on his lips, and Beth knows this is crazy, this crazy rush that is more carnal than anything she’s ever experienced, this rush in this particular moment. He smells like sweat and cologne and blood. And her entire body is humming with anticipation. Except he doesn't kiss her and they’re running out of time, so she lunges forward and doesn’t bother with polite introductory kisses. She sucks on his bottom lip and bites down on it, knowing fully well it’s already been bruised and she smiles against it when he groans and then pushes back until her ass hits the edge of the table. 

 

There’s nothing graceful in the way he all but rips the button off her pants or in the way she kicks off her shoes so he he can pull the pants all the way off. There’s definitely nothing graceful in the way her hand slams down on the table, clumsily looking for a spot to hold as he slams into her. As it turns out, she doesn't need to hold onto anything because Rio roughly grabs her legs and pulls towards the edge so she has no choice but to grab hold of him.

 

There’s nothing measured about this, nothing to consider except the ardent need to fuck the animosity out of each other. She digs her nails into the back of his neck as he mouths her breasts through her shirt and jacket, which she didn’t bother to take off earlier, and he isn’t afraid to use his teeth. She curses when he does. 

 

She moves her hips harder against him, making their movements even more frantic. She tastes the sweat on on his skin when she bears her teeth down on his pulse point and if possible, she grows even wetter the moment he grabs hold of her hair and pulls back roughly so he can assault her neck in retaliation. 

 

He drags his teeth down and bites down on the tender skin where her neck and shoulder meet. 

 

She’s heavily panting now, clinging to him as the familiar pressure begins to build low in her belly. 

 

He’s grunting with every thrust, forcing little cries of pleasure out of her despite the fact that she’s always fancied herself pretty quiet during sex; four little ones will do that.

 

She manages to squeeze a hand between them. Rio’s eyes grow impossibly darker when he realizes what she’s doing and a quiet “fuck” tumbles out of him as she circles her clit and he claims her mouth again, hand still fisted in her hair. 

 

Her orgasm hits her like a truck and all she can do is cry out against his cheek as she rides it out along with his. Her body shudders long after, and her chest heaves like she’s just run a marathon.

 

She’s glad that Rio seems to be just as speechless as she is. He pulls back slowly to look at her. He’s still bloody and bruised up, and sweaty, and she still hates him a little but she also wants to kiss him. So she does. Slowly this time, soothing the cut on his lip with her tongue, and then placing a small kiss upon it before drawing back.

 

“Car guy going to call the cops?” 

 

She nods. “You should go.” 

 

“Yeah,” he agrees, and slowly disentangles himself from her. He’s thoughtful enough to locate her pants for her.

 

She’ll never find her underwear before the cops show up so she puts the pants on without them.

 

“I’ll be laying low for a while,” he says, zipping up his pants. 

 

She nods. “You’ll be in touch?”

 

He stares at her for a moment, bites his lip and smiles. “Yeah, I’ll be in touch. Stay out of trouble in the meantime.” 

 

She rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling too as she waves him off, “Go. Get out of here.” 

 

He grabs his gun off the floor, where it landed at some point during all of this, and goes out the back door. Not five minutes later, she hears the sirens and sees the lights outside her home. She takes a deep breath, and prepares to greet her audience.

 

This will have to be one hell of a show. 


End file.
